“If he isn’t in, I can wait.”
“He’s in the library.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
Summerset permitted himself the tiniest huff. If Roarke hadn’t ordered him to show the woman in immediately he would have shuffled her off to some small, poorly lit room. “This way, please.”
“What exactly is it about me that rubs you wrong, Summerset?”
With his back poker straight, he led her up a flight and down the wide corridor. “I have no idea what you mean, lieutenant. The library,” he announced in reverent terms, and opened the door for her.
She’d never in her life seen so many books. She never would have believed so many existed outside of museums. The walls were lined with them so that the two-level room positively reeked with books.
On the lower level, on what was surely a leather sofa, Roarke lounged, a book in his hand, the cat on his lap.
“Eve. You’re early.” He set the book aside, picked up the cat as he rose.
“Jesus, Roarke, where did you get all these?”
“The books?” He let his gaze roam the room. Firelight danced and shifted over colorful spines. “Another of my interests. Don’t you like to read?”
“Sure, now and again. But discs are so much more convenient.”
“And so much less aesthetic.” He stroked the cat’s neck and sent him into ecstasy. “You’re welcome to borrow any you like.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How about a drink?”
“I could handle that.”
His ’link beeped. “This is the call I’ve been waiting for. Why don’t you get us both a glass of wine I’ve had breathing over on the table?”
“Sure.” She took the cat from him and walked over to oblige. Because she wanted to eavesdrop, she forced herself to stay the length of the room away from where he sat murmuring.
It gave her a chance to browse the books, to puzzle over the titles. Some she had heard of. Even with a state education, she’d been required to read Steinbeck and Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens. The curriculum had taken her through King and Grisham, Morrison and Grafton.
But there were dozens, perhaps hundreds of names here she’d never heard of. She wondered if anyone could handle so many books, much less read them.
“I’m sorry,” he said when the call was complete. “That couldn’t wait.”
“No problem.”
He took the wine she’d poured him. “The cat’s becoming quite attached to you.”
“I don’t think he has any particular loyalties.” But Eve had to admit, she enjoyed the way he curled under her stroking hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about him. I called Georgie’s daughter and she said she just couldn’t face taking him. Pressing the matter only made her cry.”
“You could keep him.”
“I don’t know. You have to take care of pets.”
“Cats are remarkably self-sufficient.” He sat on the sofa and waited for her to join him. “Want to tell me about your day?”
“Not very productive. Yours?”
“Very productive.”
“A lot of books,” Eve said lamely, knowing she was stalling.